Page 836 - vanity-fair

After a lively chat with this lady (who sat on the edge of
the breakfast table in an easy attitude displaying the drap-
ery of her stocking and an ex-white satin shoe, which was
down at heel), Colonel Crawley called for pens and ink, and
paper, and being asked how many sheets, chose one which
was brought to him between Miss Moss’s own finger and
thumb. Many a sheet had that dark-eyed damsel brought in;
many a poor fellow had scrawled and blotted hurried lines
of entreaty and paced up and down that awful room un-
til his messenger brought back the reply. Poor men always
use messengers instead of the post. Who has not had their
letters, with the wafers wet, and the announcement that a
person is waiting in the hall?
Now on the score of his application, Rawdon had not
many misgivings.
DEAR BECKY, (Rawdon wrote)
I HOPE YOU SLEPT WELL. Don’t be FRIGHTENED if
I don’t bring you in your COFFY. Last night as I was com-
ing home smoaking, I met with an ACCADENT. I was
NABBED by Moss of Cursitor Street—from whose GILT
AND SPLENDID PARLER I write this—the same that had
me this time two years. Miss Moss brought in my tea—
she is grown very FAT, and, as usual, had her STOCKENS
DOWN AT HEAL.
It’s Nathan’s business—a hundred-and-fifty—with costs,
hundredand-seventy. Please send me my desk and some
CLOTHS—I’m in pumps and a white tye (something like
Miss M’s stockings)—I’ve seventy in it. And as soon as you
get this, Drive to Nathan’s—offer him seventy-five down,

836 Vanity Fair